Hey all. This isn't exactly a new story, I wrote it a while back, but I've fooled around with it a bit, made some improvements (I hope).

The timing of this story is some time late in season 1, lets say after Hell House. It has no connection to my previous fic.

Hope you enjoy.

And as always, I have no business messing with Supernatural. But it's just so much fun.

Chapter 1

Dean woke with a start to the pitch black and had no idea where he was. A motel somewhere. It was always a motel somewhere.

Slowly, his sleep addled brain put the pieces together, new job, new town, and he was currently enjoying the comforts of the Double D Motel. A smile spread across his face. When they had driven past the motel he had convinced Sam that they had to stay here. The possibility that the female staff hiring policy may be reflected in the name was too good to pass by. He entertained images of large breasted women catering to his needs, and that demanded that they give the Double D a shot. Sam called him juvenile but had no real reason to object to the choice, motels on the whole were much of a muchness and Dean had got his way. He really hoped the place lived up to its promsie.

He raised himself on his elbows, just enough to see the lcd display on the motel clock, and was unimpressed by the reading. 2.13am? He flopped heavily back onto the pillows with a huff of annoyance. It was no time to be awake, it wasn't like him to have an interrupted sleep, that was more Sam's deal. He closed his eyes, trying to find slumber but there was a prickling unease at the back of his neck. Something had woken him, something wasn't right and he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

Dean lay listening in the dark. He could hear Sam's regular breathing in the next bed. It wasn't often that he heard Sam sleeping, his younger brother tended to go to bed later and get up earlier. It was nice hearing Sam so peaceful and relaxed, Dean often worried about his brother's screwed up sleep patterns, it was a relief to discover that Sam was capable of deep sleep, Dean was starting to wonder.

The appreciation of his brother's restfulness was interrupted by the sounds of a woman crying. It began as a low sobbing moan and quickly intensified to a loud, unpleasant wailing. The woman was distraught. But it wasn't an urgent crying, it didn't sound like she was in any physical danger, she was just outrageously upset about something.

After listening to the sound for a minute Dean debated with himself whether he should get up and offer assistance. Consoling women was not his forte.

This is not my problem Dean told himself. At 2.13 in the morning, it is not my problem.

He rolled over and tried to ignore the crying, but it was so irritatingly loud, it was impossible to disregard. There was no way he could sleep while the wailing continued. With a deep sigh he kicked off the blankets, felt around for his jeans and shirt and dressed himself hastily.

With eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Dean's gaze darted toward his younger brother and he was amazed that Sam hadn't stirred. He frowned, finding his brother's stillness a little unsettling, usually Sam was disturbed by much less, but he concluded that the combined soporific effects of a long drive and a poor sleep history had driven Sam into a deeper sleep than usual. It provided Dean with an added incentive to find the woman and comfort her, cut short the crying, to allow Sam to continue enjoying the rest he obviously needed.

As he stood to leave, it occurred to Dean that he about to head into an unknown situation; he didn't know why the woman was crying, he didn't know what he was going to find and it wouldn't hurt to have a gun on him. Just in case. He reached under his bed and grabbed the handgun he had stowed there earlier, shoving it into the back of his jeans, and smoothing down his shirt to make the tell-tale lump as inconspicuous as possible. He wanted to be prepared but he didn't want to appear threatening.

When he stepped out the door the cold air hit him hard and he considered going back inside to grab his jacket. After a moment's indecision he figured he wouldn't be out for long and closed the door quietly behind him. The woman was still crying and the hunter walked the few steps to the next room, expecting the woman to be inside, the paper thin walls failing to contain her sorrow, but as he put his ear to the darkened window he was surprised to find that the noise wasn't coming from within. He straightened, closed his eyes and tried to get a lock on where the crying was coming from, then opened his eyes in confusion and pressed his ear once again to the window he had just listened to. The sound definitely wasn't coming from inside and his brain couldn't quite process it. When the crying was that loud, that close, and seemed to be coming from that direction, where else could the woman be?

A quick visual surveillance of the area revealed no-one around and there were no lighted rooms, so Dean slowly reconnoitered the motel trying to find the distraught woman. Whether it was a trick of the wind or the acoustics off the L-shaped building, as he moved, the sorrowful sounds seemed to echo around him, sometimes coming from his left, sometimes coming from his right and it was frustratingly difficult to use the noise to guide his movements.

After wandering past all the rooms without coming to any conclusions, Dean stood shivering at his doorstep, unsure of his next move and lacking the motivation to continue the search. He couldn't believe no-one else had left their room to investigate, he guessed there were many people laying in their beds right now silently cursing the woman.

Only because he knew that it would be pointless returning to bed, that he would be unable to sleep while the crying continued, did Dean begin another slow investigation of the area. His senses were acute as he looked and listened for some clue to the woman's location and he was baffled by his inability to find her. He started to wonder if it was some sort of elaborate hoax, his mind was thinking laterally, trying to find an explanation for why a simple task was proving so difficult.

He was walking through the carpark pondering his theory, looking for speakers or microphones or anything of that ilk, when suddenly there was silence. An eerie and unexpected silence, like the woman had been forcibly cut off. Dean stopped short and whirled 360 degrees looking for ….anything…..something. Some clue as to what was going on. He stood still, barely breathing, listening for the crying to start up again. But as the seconds ticked by and the cold started to seep inside him, Dean concluded that the incident was over and slowly walked back to his room. He hesitated outside his door and surveyed the motel one last time. With a mystified shake of his head the young man reluctantly went inside, re-stowed the gun, took off his jeans and shirt then threw himself onto the bed.

That was strange. And annoying. He'd wasted some good sleeping time on that search.

"Were you just outside?" he heard groggily from the next bed.

"Go to sleep Sam," Dean replied, disappointed that not only had he just engaged in a fruitless search, but he also hadn't prevented his brother from being woken, and his tone was a little harsh as a result.

"What's up?" the groggy voice persisted and Dean could hear his brother shifting in the bed.

"Nothing Sam," Dean softened his voice, trying to soothe his brother. "Go to sleep, there's nothing up."

Sam was placated by the response and soon his breathing became deep and regular once more. Dean lay awake going over in his mind what had occurred. He was disquieted. He couldn't convince himself of the hoax theory, the crying had sounded too human, too real, it hadn't sounded like a reproduction. Which brought him back to the unsatisfactory premise that a woman had been crying nearby and he'd been unable to locate her.

It was just a woman crying, he told himself, trying to calm his overactive thoughts, what's the big deal?

But the whole thing had been odd. How could the crying have sounded so close yet the woman be undiscoverable? And why had it ended so abruptly? He was concerned by that, a little worried that the woman may have come to some harm. Not that he could blame whoever may have done the harming, that crying was like fingernails down a chalkboard.

The hunter tried to shake his mind clear and get back to sleep, the incident was over, he had done his best to offer help and there was nothing more he could do about it, he wasn't about to call the police. He closed his eyes and ran the assurance through his head again there's nothing more you can do about it.

But there was much counting of sheep before he was able to return to his dreams.

"Would you like a top up sweetie?" the middle aged waitress addressed Dean with a hospitable smile.

"Oh hell yes," he returned, flashing her a grateful grin.

When the waitress moved away Sam said, "I can't believe I didn't hear it."

"You and me both," Dean agreed.

"I mean I heard you get up, but I don't remember hearing any crying." The younger man was genuinely perplexed at the story his brother had told of the crying woman. It was well established that Sam was the light sleeper and Dean could sleep through anything, the reversal was confusing.

"And it was loud man. I was expecting to meet the whole motel in the carpark."

Sam frowned, baffled at how he could have missed it. "And you never found the woman?"

The older man shook his head. "Damned if I know where she was. Somewhere close though."

Dean didn't mention the possibility that it may have been a hoax. He was fairly confident that it wasn't, and he didn't want to plant that seed in his brother's head for fear that Sam would grab onto it and dismiss the whole incident out of hand, turn it into something to joke about.

He stifled a yawn and took a guzzle of coffee, wincing at the bitterness. It tasted awful but the brown liquid was strong and that's what he wanted right now, an excess of caffeine to counter the sleep deprivation.

Sam regarded his brother and toyed with the idea that Dean may have dreamt the whole thing. That was easier for Sam to believe than that he had slept through such a disturbance.

"So why are we here again?" Dean broke the silence. They had arrived in town late yesterday, Sam had said something about a newspaper article, possible job, Dean had only been half listening.

Sam took out his note-book. "David Evans" he read. "Killed himself"

"And I care why?" Dean asked with a slight frown.

"David Evans is mentioned in Dad's journal. I think he was a hunter. It looks like he helped Dad out on a few occasions. I don't know, maybe he killed himself, maybe he didn't. I just thought it would be worth looking into."


Sam glanced up from his notes in surprise, the question unexpected. They had discussed the job yesterday, Sam had told his brother where they were going and why, it was a little late to be asking questions about it when they had already made the long drive.

"What do you mean?" Sam countered.

"People kill themselves all the time Sam. Why should we get involved?"

"Don't you think it's interesting that he's mentioned in Dad's journal and turns up dead?"

Dean gave his brother a dubious look. "In a word? No. Why would you think the two are related? He was probably some loser who couldn't get a date and killed himself rather than face another night at home with Mrs Palmer and her five daughters." The hunter held up his hand and waved his fingers around, delighting in his brother's look of disgust.

Sam was aghast at the insensitivity and, though it was off topic, couldn't help but ask, "Is that really why you think people kill themselves? Because they can't get a date?"

"Sure," the older brother replied matter of factly. "What's there to live for if you can't get a date?" Dean pointed at his brother. "Something for you to think about."

Sam was aware that Dean was baiting him but still he was horrified at the sentiment. "You're unbelievable," the young hunter muttered and received an infuriating smirk in response, Dean smug about pushing his buttons. "So are we going to look into this death or not?" Sam demanded testily.

"Yeah yeah, we're here now, we may as well take a look," Dean added under his breath, "at this waste of time." Then more volubly, "And when we're done here I'm choosing the next job. I'll find us some real shit to hunt."

"Fine," Sam huffed and continued in a mumble, "you could have chosen this job if you'd gotten off your lazy ass."

"Excuse me?"

Sam continued reading through his notes, "Looks like Evans owned a hunting store in the area. What do you want to do first, go to the store or check out his house?" As Sam looked up from his notepad he could see Dean was now looking interested. In the hunting store, not in David Evans.

"Hunting store" was the quick response.

Sam smiled to himself. Dean liked hunting stores the way kids liked a candy store. He would walk around slowly, gaze longingly at the deadly weapons, ask questions about new equipment, fire off a few rounds if there was a target range in the back. It was kind of sick actually. But completely understandable given their lifestyle.

"I see we're interested now," Sam noted wryly.

Dean fixed an unimpressed expression on his brother, "Your choice of job sucks and I think you should be ashamed of yourself for bringing us here. But a hunting store owned by a 'hunter'", Dean did the bunny ears with his fingers and Sam couldn't help but smile, "could be cool. Definitely worth checking out."

Sam nodded in mock agreement. Oh yeah, checking out weapons of death, that's cool alright. But he didn't take issue with Dean, he was happy to see some interest. "Hunting store it is."

Dean wasn't enthused about the job. Sam was usually a little more discerning in the hunts he chose for them. Some guy killed himself? Big frigging deal. Since when was that their kind of gig? There was nothing about it that would ordinarily attract their interest, just because the dead guy was a hunter, and someone their father knew, didn't mean he had suffered a supernatural death or that there was anything here to hunt. He fully expected that in a couple of days they were going to come to the conclusion that yep, the guy killed himself alright.

He looked around for the waitress to top him up again, with a feeling that he was going to need a lot of coffee to keep him awake through this one.